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After a short pause, the elderly man resumes his oration, “There is another, that without we would simply not be here. Not even the savages that roam the valley… Or the valley’s savanna. We all come from the Primordial. It is responsible for all life as we know it. Where it came from… What exactly it is… We don’t know. We only know it exists thanks to the Wise One and the collective memories of his kind.

“The Primordial lies everywhere beneath us. Its size… Unimaginable. Within it… An incomprehensible maze of corridors. A constant creation of new bodies… Life. Some call it our mother… A god. I will let you decide on your own, my students. Or you could not decide at all and accept it as a perpetual mystery. I am not here to make up your minds for you, only to teach you what our people already know.

“The Wise One’s kind does not regard the Primordial as a mother-like force. They view it more like an untamed garden of horrors. The first of his kind escaped the Primordial in pairs, all ending up in the caves of Wisemount. Their memories are faded, but they remember their first ancestors went through what seemed to be a series of trials… Perhaps as a way for the Primordial to determine what is worthy of life on the surface.

“Some of Man believe that your body returns to the Primordial when you die. It absorbs your life experiences, learning your successes… And your failures. Using the sum of your memories and the memories of others… It creates new life… Superior life. Many believe this is the cause of Man’s creation, and ultimately all life.”

The old man sits down, resting his back against the stone statue. Several boys raise their fingers, some raising more than others.

The old man points to one of the boys — this boy raising only a single finger — prompting him to speak up, “Does the river come from the Primordial?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe all springs come from the Primordial,” the old man replies. The boy does not look satisfied with the answer.

Once prompted, another boy asks, raising two fingers, “If we don’t bury our dead, does that mean the Primordial doesn’t learn from us?”

“Uh…” the old man pauses. “I don’t know.”

The old man prompts another boy, this one raising only one finger, “Is the Primordial a boy or a girl?”

The question puzzles the old man for a moment. He then sighs and answers, “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“You don’t have any answers!” a boy screeches.

Rising to his feet, the old man glares down at the boy. The cavern falls silent. All the boys lower their hands and look down meekly at the floor.

“The duty of a teacher is to impart knowledge that already exists. We don’t make it up on the spot,” he sternly replies. “That duty belongs to the preacher.”